Tag: children’s

Complementing my interviews, today’s Author Spotlight, the three hundred and sixty-ninth, is of novelist Jane Davis. If you would like to take part in an author spotlight, take a look at author-spotlights.

Jane Davis lives in Carshalton, Surrey with her Formula 1 obsessed, star-gazing, beer-brewing partner, surrounded by growing piles of paperbacks, CDs and general chaos. She spent her twenties and the first part of her thirties chasing promotions, but when Jane achieved what he had set out to do, although the money was nice, she discovered that it was not what she had wanted after all. Seeking a creative outlet, she turned to writing fiction, but cites the disciplines learnt in the business world as what helps her finish a 120,000-word novel.

Her first, Half-truths and White Lies, won the Daily Mail First Novel Award and was described by Joanne Harris as ‘A story of secrets, lies, grief and, ultimately, redemption, charmingly handled by this very promising new writer.’ She was hailed by The Bookseller as ‘One to Watch.’ Four self-published novels followed: I Stopped Time, These Fragile Things, A Funeral for an Owl and An Unchoreographed Life. Of her writing, Compulsion Reads wrote, ‘Davis is a phenomenal writer, whose ability to create well rounded characters that are easy to relate to feels effortless.’ Jane’s favourite description of fiction is that it is ‘made-up truth.’

Complementing my interviews, today’s Author Spotlight, the three hundred and forty-first, is of children’s author Lou Honderich. If you would like to take part in an author spotlight, take a look at author-spotlights.

Lou Honderich is a former teacher and life-long horsewoman. During her teaching career she taught Kindergarten, first grade and elementary PE. Her hearing loss as an adult led her to the deaf community, sign language, and a new direction in teaching. She began to work with deaf and hard-of-hearing students in self-contained classrooms, mainstream situations, in summer camps and therapeutic horseback riding programs.

Lou and her husband live on a small farm in northwest Arkansas with their horses, dogs, cats and chickens. They have five children and seven grandchildren. Lou Honderich continues to enjoy riding as well as writing, and is currently at work on her next book.

Jim Sellers is the author of the newly released YA book “Jacky the Brave”. Although he had written works in most genres, he was surprised and happy to see his first publishing success was in YA. His writing in that genre is based mostly on events in his own life with some inspiration from friends and other family members. “Jacky the Brave” is just such a collection of his experiences.

Born in Edmonton in north-west Canada, Jim spent a lot of time reading and imagining exciting adventures as a kid. That was the favourite pastime of boys who didn’t play hockey and lived before the age of video games. Like most writers, he has been creating stories since his teen years and found the pen and paper to be a regular companion on long trips and quiet days. He also doubted that any of his work would be published – it seemed unlikely after watching other writers he knew trying so hard. So he set his sights on film and TV. During his 20 years in that business he learned the process of writing screenplays for drama and documentaries as well as advertising and corporate communications before retiring from that industry. For the last 10 years he has been working in communications management for non-profits groups and universities.

He continued to write screenplays as show pilots or spec film scripts, most ending up in the rejection files. It was after he decided to get his Bachelor’s degree (at 50) that he learned to appreciate the sheer joy and freedom of writing fiction. It was this appreciation for fictional writing that caused him to re-evaluate all the abandoned stories he had filed away and all the adventures he had logged in his notes. In 2004, he made a project of writing a series of YA stories based on his previous writing. Each of these stories (4 in all) received different levels of interest from publishers and agents, with results ranging from boilerplate rejections to requests for full manuscripts (followed eventually by rejections). During this time he established a variety of websites about writing, posted his short stories and wrote a serial novel.

After repeated rewrites and editing, his first Young Adult novel was accepted for publication in 2013. He is working on a sequel for the book, a short story collection and a novel.

Welcome to the two hundred and eighty-fifth in this series that is ‘5pm Fiction’.

Late April 2011 I discovered StoryADay.org and the project that is to write 31 stories in 31 days. Anyone who knows me or follows this blog, knows how passionate I am about short stories so my clichéd eyes lit up at this new marvel. And just a few days later there I was, breathing life into new characters. This went on to become (with some editing of course) my 31-story collection eBook Story A Day May 2011. I have since published (as eBooks) the 2012 and 2013 collections, detailed on https://morgenbailey.wordpress.com/books-mine/short-stories/story-a-day-may.

I was nearing completion of the 2012 project when I decided that I didn’t want to stop at the end of May so 5PM Fiction was born. I put a load of prompts on the 5PM Fiction page and today’s was to write a story in second person-viewpoint from the keyword prompt of ‘chase’. Here is my 356-worder.

The photo that no-one else can get

You’ve been chasing her for days, to get the photo that no-one else can get. She knows you’re there. There’s always someone there.

It’s a lifestyle she’s had to become accustomed to, only you don’t think she ever will. It’s not one you’d want, except she’s become your job, your life.

When she emerges out of the building, you reach over to your camera, on its dashboard tripod, and set it to continuous.

You follow her car through narrow streets, wide streets – her executive to your jalopy, the only thing you could get at short notice. You’re used to this place, she’s been here a lot.

Most of the shots are of the back of her head but you know she could look round. She has before.

As her car gathers speed so does yours. It complains but it’s not yours so you’re not bothered.

As she heads into the tunnel, she edges forward and you floor the accelerator, a little too close for comfort but you decide to go alongside, get level, no other cars in sight, so you swivel round your camera in anticipation, a momentary lapse in concentration.

Welcome to Flash Fiction Friday and the one hundred and ninth piece in this series. This week’s is a 467-worder by freelance writer, blogger and book reviewer Angela Sturm. This story will be podcasted in episode 34 (with two other stories and some 6-worders) on Sunday 1st December.

Watcher

I can see him making his way up the stairs. No one else appeared to notice. I called to him and he smiled. I took his outstretched hand and in an instant we were walking through the cornfield, talking laughing, knowing. I suspect this will be our last outing together. I want to cry but for some reason I can’t. I am strangely happy, content to say nothing.

I know what he is doing and why he’s doing it. He loves me. He wants me to be the first to know. I can hear crying in the background and people talking in hushed tones, moving about, but I can’t see anyone. “Can you see them?” I ask. “Yes, I can,” he said. You will see them soon enough.”

We continued to walk and although our lips weren’t moving, our conversation carried on. I am having trouble remembering much of anything said, I only know how peaceful this is and I never want to leave. I held tightly to his hand. Memories of early morning fishing expeditions, milk toast and that awful smell of head cheese he loved to make, filled my mind and made us both laugh. I remember him clothing and feeding the homeless and that silly dance he did every morning while singing the wake up song, pulling at his hair and making it stick up. I was laughing so hard I barely noticed that we’ve stopped walking. He is looking at me now, time standing still. He looks so serious, gently placing his hands on my cheeks, searching deep into my eyes. I think I saw a tear trickle down his face. I have only ever seen him cry once, and it was when he told me stories about the war and how no man should have to endure what he witnessed. War killed his spirit. I can feel my tears now. Our journey has come to an end.

The fields have disappeared. He’s not holding my face anymore. Desperate, I call out his name. “I am right here princess, do not be afraid.” I can barely see him. I call out again, “Why are you so far away?” “It is time,” he said. “I am going home.” Then a soft white light… well, more like a white cloud, appeared. He drew closer and smiled at me for the last time, then disappeared into the white fog.

A door opened somewhere, more crying. I hear my name. Something has my shoulder. “Ava, Ava, wake up, honey.” I turn to look at the clock. It’s after midnight. “Dad and I need to talk to you.” My room is filled with family. They are staring at me. “Grandpa died in his sleep,” they said, “in heaven now,” but I already knew this.

I watched him go.

*

I asked Angela what prompted this piece and she said…

My grandfather and I were very close. I remember like it was yesterday when he passed. I was sixteen, eating a tuna sandwich watching the wheel of fortune. My grandma called and simply said, “I think Grandpa is dead. Can I talk to your dad please?” Calm as could be. I know now she was in shock, but back then, I kept wondering how she remained so composed.

The flash fiction piece I wrote is based on actual events, but fictionalized. I miss my grandpa as much today as I did those many years ago when he died. I think about him often, the impact he had, and continues to have, on me, so I decided to memorialize him. “Watcher” was written with him in mind.

**

Thank you, Angela. It was very moving, and having lost my father September 2001, I feel just the same.

Angela Sturm is a freelance writer, blogger and book reviewer currently working on a novel.

If you’d like to submit your 6-word or 500-word max. stories for consideration for Flash Fiction Friday take a look here, or up to 1,000 words for critique on my Online Short Story Writing Group (links below).

For writers / readers willing to give feedback and / or writers wanting feedback, take a look at this blog’s Feedback page.

As I post a spotlight or interview a day (amongst other things) I can’t unfortunately review books but I have a list of those who do. If there’s anything you’d like to take part in, take a look at Opportunities on this blog.

I welcome items for critique directly (see Editing & Critique) or for posting on the online writing groups listed below:

Welcome to the two hundred and eighty-fourth in this series that is ‘5pm Fiction’.

Late April 2011 I discovered StoryADay.org and the project that is to write 31 stories in 31 days. Anyone who knows me or follows this blog, knows how passionate I am about short stories so my clichéd eyes lit up at this new marvel. And just a few days later there I was, breathing life into new characters. This went on to become (with some editing of course) my 31-story collection eBook Story A Day May 2011. I have since published (as eBooks) the 2012 and 2013 collections, detailed on https://morgenbailey.wordpress.com/books-mine/short-stories/story-a-day-may.

I was nearing completion of the 2012 project when I decided that I didn’t want to stop at the end of May so 5PM Fiction was born. I put a load of prompts on the 5PM Fiction page and today’s was to write a story from the one-word prompt of ‘yellow’. Here is my 163-worder.

Once A Month

She’d been on before. Dan recognised her brooch, yellow like the bus, but it wasn’t until she handed over the £2 coin, that he spotted the bandages round each wrist.

He handed over the change. He wasn’t supposed to – the rules were exact money only and it was only 40p, but it gave him an excuse to speak. “I like your sunflower,” he said, but felt it a lame thing to say.

“Thanks,” she said, looking down at the coins and blushing.

“Nice to see you again,” he continued.

“You remembered?”

Dan nodded.

“Once a month,” she said, tears forming.

Unsure of what to say, Dan felt as if he’d been let into a secret.

A man behind the woman coughed and as she put the change into her purse, Dan was sure he spotted a hint of a smile.

He watched her walk towards the back of the bus and hoped he didn’t have to wait another month before they spoke again.

For writers / readers willing to give feedback and / or writers wanting feedback, take a look at this blog’s Feedback page.

As I post a spotlight or interview a day (amongst other things) I can’t unfortunately review books but I have a list of those who do. If there’s anything you’d like to take part in, take a look at Opportunities on this blog.

I welcome items for critique directly (see Editing & Critique) or for posting on the online writing groups listed below: